Joyous as the jest goes round,
Taunt nor gibe can Masons fear;
None, by sacred pledges bound,

Prate again of what they hear.

When we toast the fair we prize,
Not a tongue shall slander tell;
Masons' hearts, by honour's ties,

Guard the sex they love so well.

And tho' we fill our glasses high,
Feeling still shall warm the breast;
We have not left the poor man dry-
So the cheerful cup is blest.

GLEE,

Composed by Brother ATTWOOD, for three Voices.

IN Masons' hearts let joy abound!
Let the fraternal health go round!
Fill up the bowl, then!-fill high!
Fill all the goblets there!-for why
When Masons meet should they be dry?
Why, Sons of Candour, tell me why?
Our work is done. We've fed the poor;
We've chas'd the wolf from sorrow's door.
Fill up the bowl, then!-fill it high!
Fill all the goblets there!—for why
Should ev'ry mortal drink but I?
Why, Sons of Mortals, tell me why?

SONG I.

[Tune, Attic Fire.]

ARISE, and blow thy trumpet, Fame!
Freemasonry aloud proclaim

To realms and worlds unknown:
Tell them, 'twas this great David's son,
The wise, the matchless Solomon,
Priz'd far above his throne.

The solemn temples! cloud-capt towers,
Th' aspiring domes, are works of ours;
By us those piles were rais'd:
Then bid mankind with songs advance,
And through th' ethereal vast expanse,
Let Masonry be prais'd!

Then God arose, his thunders hurl'd, ́
And bade the elements arise;
In air he hung the pendant world,
And o'er it spread the azure skies;
Stars in circles caus'd to run,
And in the centre fix'd the sun.

Then man he call'd forth out of dust,
And formed him with a living soul;

All things committed to his trust,

And made him ruler of the whole;

But, ungrateful unto heaven,
The rebel was from Eden driven.

From thence proceeded all our woes,

Nor could mankind one comfort cheer;

Until Free-masonry arose,

And form'd another Eden here:

'Tis only on Masonic ground,
Pleasure with innocence is found.""

'Tis here the purest fountains flow,
Here nought corrupt can enter in;
Here trees of knowledge stately grow,
Whose fruit we taste, exempt from sin;
In friendship sweet we still abound,
While guardian angels hover round.

A MASTER MASON'S SONG. [Tune, To Anacreon in Heaven.]

Nor the fictions of Greece, nor the dreams of old Rome,
Shall with visions mislead, or with meteors consume;
No Pegasus' wings my short soarings misguide,
Nor raptures detain me on Helicon's side.

All clouds now dissolve; from the East beams the day-
Truth rises in glory, and wakens the lay.

The eagle-ey'd Muse-sees the light-fills the grove
With the song of Freemasons, of friendship and love!

Inspir'd with the theme, the divinity flies,
And, thron'd on a rainbow, before her arise
Past, Present, and Future, with splendid array,
In Masonic succession, their treasures display;
She views murder'd merit by ruffian-hand fall,
And the grave give its dead up, at fellowship's call!
While the Craft, by their badges, their innocence prove;
And the song of Freemasons-friendship and love!

From those ages remote see the Muse speeds her way,
To join in the glories the Present display.

In freedom and friendship she sees the true band
With their splendour and virtues illumine the land.
Religion's pure beams break the vapours of night,
And from darkness mysterious the Word gives the light!
While the Lodge here below, as the choirs from above,
Join the song of Freemasons, in friendship and love!

That the Future might keep what the Present bestows,
In rapture prophetic the goddess arose;
As she sung through the skies, angels echo'd the sound,
And the winds bore the notes to the regions around;
The kind proclamation our song shall retain;

'Twas- that Masonry long may its lustre maintain :
• And till Time be no more, our fraternity prove,
That the objects we aim at, are friendship and love!'

SONG IV.

Written and composed for the Masonic Meeting, by a Lady of
Bath and sung by Brother A. LOADER, at the Banquet at
Kingston Rooms.

ALL hail ye dear lov'd social band,
The boast, the glory of our land!
Whose mystic meetings ever prove
The feast of Charity and Love, Deg

440

ye tread,

Though far
apart, where'er
Alike by one great motive led,
In heav'nly union still ye move,
The friends of Charity and Love.
What though without the tempest raves,
The loyal heart each danger braves ;
Within these walls no murmurs sound,
Here, Love and Peace are ever found;
Here, brother's hand to brother's join'd,
Bespeaks the union of the mind:
Then fill the sparkling goblet high;
For Church and King, we live or die!
To thee, illustrious Prince, we raise
A lasting monument of praise

In hearts, from which thy honour'd name
The warmest gratitude may claim;

Hearts which, in brother's love close bound,

To thee will e'er be faithful found;

And still, as now, united sing

Long live our Prince!-God save our King!

SONG V.

COMPOSED BY MR. BOSWELL.

Vain thought! but had BURNS ever witness'd a meeting
Of souls so congenial, and warm'd with such fire,

The wild flow of fancy in ecstasy greeting,

Ah! what might have been the bold notes of his lyre?

As rays by reflection are doubled, and doubled,
His bosom had swell'd to your cheering reply;
Soft sympathy soothing the heart that was troubled-
A smile for his mirth-for his sorrow a sigh.

Admir'd, but unaided, how dark was his story;
His struggles we know, and his efforts we prize ;
From murky neglect, as the flame bursts to glory,
He rose, self-embalm'd, and detraction defies.

A Ploughman he was :—would that smiles of false favour
Had never decoy'd him from home and his team;
And taught all his hopes and his wishes to waver,
And, snatching reality, left him—a dream.

To rank and to title, due deference owing,
We bow, as befitting society's plan;

But, judgment awaken'd, and sympathy glowing,
We pass all distinctions, and rest upon-Man.

And, from the poor hind, who, his day's task completed,
With industry's pride to his hovel returns,
To him, who in royalty's splendour is seated,

If soul independent be found, 'twas in BURNS.

His birth-right, his Muse! like the lark in the morning,
How blithely he caroll'd in praise of the fair:
With nature enraptur'd, and artifice scorning,

How sweet were his notes on the banks of the Ayr!

And near to that spot where his kindred dust slumbers,
And mark'd by the Bard on the tablets of fame,
And near the thatch'd shed where he first lisp'd in numbers,
We'll raise a proud tribute to honour his name.

SONG VI.

[Tune, Rural Felicity.]

YE dull stupid mortals, give o'er your conjectures,
Since Freemasons' secrets ye ne'er can obtain.
The Bible and compasses are our directors,

And shall be as long as this world doth remain.
Here Friendship inviting, here Freedom delighting,
Our moments in innocent mirth we employ.

CHORUS.

Come, see Masons' felicity.

Working and singing with hearts full of joy. No other society that you can mention,

Which has been, is now, or hereafter shall be,
However commendable be its intention,

Can ever compare with divine Masonry.
No envy, no quarrels, can here blast our laurels,
No passion our pleasure can ever annoy.
Cho. Come, see, &c.

To aid one another we always are ready;

Our rights and our secrets we carefully guard;
The lodge to support, we like pillars are steady;
No Babel confusion our work can retard.

Ye mortals, come hither, assemble together,
And taste of those pleasures which never can cloy.
Cho. Come, see, &c.

We are to the Master for ever obedient,
Whenever he calls, to the Lodge we repair;
Experience has taught us that 'tis most expedient
To live within compass and act on the square.
Let mutual agreement be Freemasons' cement,
Until the whole universe Time shall destroy.
Cho. Come, see, &c.